


Ethereal Prelude

by xsjb (zpnn)



Series: Doomed Drabbles [2]
Category: Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Body Horror, Child Death, Deliberate Obscuring Of Information For Plot Reasons, Flashbacks, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Murder, Past Character Death, Revenant, Second Person, Time Shenanigans, Timeline Shenanigans, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 00:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5687737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zpnn/pseuds/xsjb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set directly before 'Revenant: Rise' (which has since been deleted by my request!). One-shot. Complete, and part of the alpha 'verse, albeit no longer a part of the series due to some changes within the series that has reduced the state of this fic to semi-canon. Well, if you could call a fanfic series canon. Semi-fanon?</p><p>Granted, this particular scene does happen in the main series, but changes may make this noncanon. I've moved it to Doomed Drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ethereal Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> September 16th, 2000.

You're at your own funeral. It's a surreal experience. Nobody can hear or see you here, no matter how much you scream or cry or wail or try to grasp on to someone, anyone - your hand just phases through. It's been like this for months, since you died. Since you died.

Reality blurs at the edges for a moment, but you hold on. You haven't seen him yet. People are walking around - and through - you, talking and crying and sharing stories. You feel underdressed in the remains of your school uniform. You can almost feel blood trickling down the back of your neck and down your front.

You can't feel physical sensations anymore. You just feel nothing. They're vague memories from when you were dying. There are empty gaps in your head, in your heart... in other areas. Sensations of being pulled. _Slash, slash, slash_. Pain. Rustling. Pain.

You can't breathe. His hands are around your throat. He's on top of you now.

 **Bang.** Pain, so much pain- **Bang.**

You've been dead for a while, but you still remember now and then. You think it's been like this for months. Everything blurs into one. You can't eat or sleep or do anything other than watch life move on without you.

Becoming a ghost... it was an experience, alright. You remembered everything at once, your body seized - or you think it did, but dead bodies can't move - and everything turned white. And you can feel every little scrape or broken bone, every heartbreak and happy day. Everything is too much...

And then you rise into the air and you can see clearly again. Except, when you did, your body was gone. So was everyone else. The alley you died in was empty, except for some faded bloodstains on the floor that you remember causing.

But...

You know where your body went. Not because anyone had told you or from a guess, but because of some sense hidden at the back of your head. You wondered if all ghosts just knew. You were somewhere out of the city - it wasn't very precise - but instead of chasing your body, you fly home instead.

Everything becomes a huge smudge of colours and shapes when you fly, and the sun suddenly appears. The cars blur past, and the people around you go from wearing spring clothes to shirts and shorts and sandals. An ice-cream truck speeds past you in a way that blurs it by - suggests to you that time isn't moving like it should. It takes - you don't know. It takes some time to go home. Everything is muddled. You realized belatedly that you were floating, and the realization almost made you stop.

You suppose being a ghost works like dreaming. Except it's forever.

There were police officers outside of your door. You could see your mother's face fall from behind one of the shoulders of the officer on the right. You shouted at her that you were here, but she didn't hear you. You didn't know if she was ignoring you, though, so you went to float to her, to push the officers out of the way -

Except you don't succeed. Your hands go through them and you almost flew straight through your mother, as well. You floated (stepped?) around her instead, to the inside. It's so sad here, it's so sad...

The funeral hasn't started yet. Your casket hasn't been brought inside - the hearse hasn't even arrived. You know that. You're not due to arrive for another half an hour. You'd followed - someone, you think it was your Grandfather - in here a few minutes ago. You cast your mind back to this morning as you float in the air, legs crossed.

He'd turned up at your house this morning when your mother was awake. She was the only early riser left in the house, now. You floated out of the kitchen as they sat at the table, talking about things you suddenly couldn't bear to listen in on. Your mother's voice was thick with tears, and your grandfather had made tea for the both of them, but none of them drank it. Your grandfather's hand was shaking on his cane - cane? When did he get a cane? - and you look at the ceiling.

_"She's really gone, isn't she?"_

There were purple stains in the sink from some art experiment you failed on some time before you kicked the bucket. They hadn't faded. You don't remember how you managed to stain metal so much, but you managed, anyway.

You look at the plughole. Something looks back. It isn't supposed to be there, why is it watching? Why is it watching?

You couldn't stay here anymore. You floated out.

No tears came from your eyes, but you wanted to make yourself  cry... to feel something. Emotions are becoming harder. You suppose you finally are managing to shut them up now. Careful what you wish for and all of that. There was no bitter laughter, no rising hatred and want for revenge. You understood that this was the end, now, but not when you would be allowed to fade to... not existing, you guess that would be what it is.

You enter the living room. Your trophies were still up from sport - from track and field, from races, from gymnastics - and some of your kid pictures were hidden in the cabinet next to the wall. Your family were high achievers, always. Your brother was a musician, but somewhere during last night he'd lugged his guitar upstairs and smashed it behind tears and the blaring yelling he called music.

Your family photos were on the walls, but you can't bear to look at them now. There were even little clay circle things propped up at the top - the name escapes you, but you remember being four and the entire family got their hands printed on them. You remember reaching up and booping your big brother on the nose, so that he'd have a splodge of grey on the edge. He was seven and disgusted and everyone but him laughed because of the expression he pulled.

Your dad wanted to pack all of your things away and put them somewhere so they'd never be lost. Your mother disagreed. It ended up in a few arguments that would end up with things staying as they were.

Your father was still in bed. You floated up so that your head would peek through the floor of the master bedroom, looking at him. He was still asleep, then, chest rising and falling periodically. Eyes closed, worry lines starting to line his forehead.

He did mourn, but he was practical of mind, you noticed often. He had been on personal leave for three weeks, now, though. It had broken him as much as it had broken the rest of your family. His beard had turned scraggly and greyed even more in your absence, but he'd stopped drinking scotch completely. His intelligent brown eyes turned glassy with grief whenever he remembered.

But he braved through it.

You floated back down into the living room. Your dog - Jake, good boy - was lying on one of the armchairs. Jake stared at you with sad eyes. You went to stroke him, but he started whining when your arm phased through his head. Dogs can see you, really well. But Jake misses you still, because you can't give him tummy rubs or throw his toys for him to catch anymore. (You did succeed, once, managed to throw his ball a few metres with telekinesis, because you'd had that in life, at least, but you find that you haven't been able to since. You just don't have the heart for it now. Literally. You're a ghost.)

His tail wagged when you stayed near, and then you whistle and his ears perk up. He can hear you, too. At least you can take to Jake. You've always been able to talk to Jake. Every other dog growls and barks whenever you get near, but not your Jake. Good boy, best friend.

You want to cuddle him again. You won't get that joy again.

"Come on, boy," You said, gesturing for him to follow you.

He jumped up, trotting after you as you hovered upstairs. You didn't know where you were going at first, but you decide to check on the rest of your family. You choose to find your older brother next.

You don't find him in his room. The room looks bigger in the absence of his guitar. You try your room next, untouched since you died, and you find him straight away. He was sat cross legged on your bed - he was three years your senior but he missed you as much as anyone else. You float next to him and imitate a sitting position. He won't see you ever again. He had gotten into a packet of tabs, one of yours, actually, and he was rolling one of the cigs between his middle and index finger. His grief was silent then, but after the funeral... after the funeral, the loud music will start again, you bet.

Speaking of funerals... you snap back to the present. More people have started to arrive, people from school, your art and history teacher... it's getting crowded. You barely know most of the kids entering, so you think your school organized something. The ones you do know are distant friends or acquaintances. You see your best friend's grandma come in and you smile. She looks in your direction, but her eyes look through you. She won't see you, either.

Even at the funeral, they've let Jake attend, and he sits next to you, whining. Your grandfather strokes his head, but his arm goes through you again and this dreadful feeling is getting old. But this time your Grandfather pauses, eyebrows scrunching. You look at him hopefully, and he seems to see you for a moment.

But then he retreats his hand in shock and you're gone, gone from his eyes because his eyes change and you can't see your reflection in his glasses anymore. He looks so upset, so shocked, and he splutters something that makes your best friend's Grandmother ask what's wrong. You stand up to talk to him, but the glimpse of recognition is gone, and as you wave your hand in front of his eyes... he can't see you anymore. But he's alive, at least.

You forget this happens because the next thing you know, more people are coming inside - your family has made it, and it's just your mother, your sister, too young to grasp the concept of death, and your brother that come in at first, but you hear others outside. Your brother stays in the doorway.

Someone - your father - calls to him, and he walks back out.

Next to arrive is your best friend's mother, and you can see her husband standing outside next to your dad.... and...

 _Victor_.

Your best friend. He's hiding it, but the cracks are starting to show. His thick eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks well groomed - thick black hair cut short and eyes focusing on anything but the hearse, scratching at his Adam's apple before he readjusts the wrist cuffs on his suit.

His suit. It looks far too formal. You thought the only time you should have to see him in one would be at his own wedding with the person of his dreams, but you don't even get that. You float next to him, and his hand twitches instinctively towards you. You look at him hopefully, but at some point while you were watching him, the men - including Victor, already strong for his age - open the boot and start unloading your coffin. Victor lifts part of it onto his shoulder, in front of your dad, and they start moving inside.

You're forced to watch as they lift your body inside of the Hall, and you stay by Victor's side for the entire time. You don't look around anymore, only at Victor. Even as they enter, even as people burst into fresh waves of tears around you, even as they lower the coffin to rest in front of the pews.

Even as you cry out, unheard to all. _Victor, I'm scared. Victor. Please._

You and Victor stand near your coffin in silence after that. Your body - or, your former - body lies in the coffin. It's a closed casket funeral. You know why - they'd buried your body and done some horrific damage to it. People would be terrified or disgusted or some mesh of the two.

You hadn't been found for months and months... and you know this, too, because you'd died in early spring and now the leaves were falling. They only found your body late summer, so by the time your autopsy rolled around you'd partly decomposed and the wounds left by your murder looked horrific. Blood stained the box you were found in, and even the police officers who had originally come to investigate the box a dog walker found were gagging and reeling.

You were thirteen.

You'd bite down on your tongue if your teeth didn't just phase through it.

"They can't see or hear either of us." You hear, suddenly, through the fog.

You look up. There's a woman standing next to you, now. Her hair is vividly blue, or aqua, some unnatural colour, and straight except for two small braids, one at each side of her temple.

"I know," You say, but then you pause, "But... you can see me. Are you dead, too?" 

"At the minute, no," She replies, with a sense of some finality, and peers directly at you.

She's wearing a green sweater - it just looks weird with her hair, and out of place for the funeral. Similarly, her eyes are some shade of green, no, blue, that seems unnatural on a human.

But, as she'd said - nobody seems to have noticed, else they'd have said something. She'd definitely have gotten complaints for that sweater. So you have to agree with this - she stuck out like a sore thumb.

"So... why are you here?" Your voice breaks the momentary silence, question haltering but direct; blunt. She seems to appreciate that in the subtle shift of her shoulders and the way her look turns intense and searching. She doesn't gasp or reel back at the fresh wounds on your body,

But maybe she doesn't. She's weighing up her options, but you can see this, notice this, too well, even as she tries to hide it.

"I've got an offer for you," She says.

Behind her, the funeral is beginning - Victor passes through your arm and his face snaps towards you for a moment as if he's seen something. You don't notice, but you're gone from his vision before he can work out what was there.

"An offer?"

"Yes. You get to come back. You'll come and find someone here."

You'd get to return to Victor.

"What do you get out of it? What happens if I say no?" It's the logical thing to think, you think.

"I don't personally get anything out of it. But a very powerful entity has shown interest in you. If you accept, you'd be amongst his Avatars... one of his Heralds. Like I was."

"Was?"

"My time passed. I'm ready to move on now."

She starts explaining it to you further, but you're starting to feel vague again. She stops, placing a hand on your forearm - it's the first amount of contact you've had since your death, and it snaps you back to reality.

"It isn't time for you to go yet. Fight it. Do you remember your name?"

You think... what was it? It wasn't very long, two names... you realize, with dawning horror, that your memories are starting to fade. You remember Jake. But Jake isn't your name - it's the name of your dog..

You shake your head no. You should, you really should. It comes back for a few seconds, something with double letters in the surname, but it just slips away again, and then it's gone completely, as if a door had shut on it. You remember Victor's name and you look down at your arm to see writing - some French ghost thing you meant to research that night, if your murderers didn't catch you first - and irony hits you as hard as a sledgehammer.

"I thought I did... It's gone."

It feels wrong to share any information at all, and you feel more than one set of eyes on you, but it's only this woman who can see you, can't she...?

She frowns, but instantly asks more questions - "How old are you?"

"Thirteen...?"

Thirteen... you think. Your birthday is in April. What day is it?

"Then you're going to wake up soon, deal or not," she cuts over you, pursing her lips momentarily. You look at her with wide eyes - but before you can say anything she speaks again, more insistent.

"If you accept this offer, become a Child of the Blue Sun, you will end up where you need to be," She starts, and oh god the room is shaking, "Either way, you're going to wake up again soon. That day you came in contact with the virus means you're not going to stay dead. Whether your soul makes it back or not is up to you."

"I... yeah... so this isn't an offer, then. It's a choice," You reply quietly.

"In a way. You can choose to remember, or choose to be a mindless beast."

You're both floating upwards now - or you are, and she's still on the floor, anchoring you by gripping your forearm.

"What have you got to lose?"

The edges of your vision are fading. You can't breathe you can't breathe.

You don't remember who you are, only about the offer. Become new, strive for purpose...

"I accept your offer," You say, but then everything turns a painful, burning, white, and you're so scared and you're burning and it hurts it hurts _it hurts_ -

 _Victor! Victor! Vic-_ Who is...

**Author's Note:**

> You don't remember anything.


End file.
